16.
I believe in you.Your's Pov:
“Your grandfather and I met when I was working at restaurant as a dish-washer. He was the cook of the restaurant. When we saw each other, we knew it was love at first sight.
“He kept staring at me while he was cooking and I could not concentrate on my washing. I stole quick glances of him, amazed by his awesome cooking skills and his good looks. By the fifth day of my work, he asked me out. I did not reject. And so we went to a park and chatted about almost everything under the sun.”
I tried to recollect memories of my grandfather. It was then that I realised I had never seen him before: He died before I was born. However, in my mind now, I was painting a picture of him: A young and handsome man who knew how to turn an uncooked egg into an omelette.
“We went on a few more dates. Unknowingly, we started holding hands. And as we continued dating, our love for each other grew so much that a day apart was intolerable.
“Whenever I woke up, I would wonder what he was doing. Whenever I walked to work, I would wonder if he was doing the same thing. If there were hand-phones during my time, I would have called him every single minute.
“Then one day, he brought me to a forest. Although I declined, he insisted. So we went into the dark forest, carrying only lighted candles. Suddenly, he disappeared. I panicked and nearly fainted, but he suddenly reappeared with a ring on his hand. He kneeled before me and proposed to me.”
I wiped off the remnants of my tears and tried to smile. Although I failed, my grandmother sensed my attempt and patted me on my shoulder.
“How could I have rejected? How could I have rejected such an offer? I cried on the spot, and within ten days, we were officially husband and wife.”
I realised that everyone had a story to tell: The auntie selling fish soup may have the most romantic love story; my old and stubborn Literature lecturer Mr Jung may have the most tragic story to tell. Yet I always pondered on the poignancy of my own story, as if my story superseded all of theirs.
“Our relationship was as strong as a rock during our first few years of marriage. But everything soon changed. We began to drift apart. We seldom talked. There was just no reason for this rift.”
“You didn’t love him anymore?” I asked, curiously.
My grandmother did not answer me. She sighed, and then continued, “I thought of divorce. But during my time, divorce was a taboo. We continued living together, exchanging less than a few words a day. And as a tradition, we had to bear a child for our parents.
“And so your omma is born. Even with the addition of a new member in the family, we stillbehaved like strangers. Your omma, angry with us for not giving her a good family, married off when she was just seventeen. And when I was fifty, I decided to move out. I lived alone here for five years, until your grandfather called me. He said he didn’t have much time left.”
I cursed beneath my breath. L.Joe’s words rang in my mind repeatedly: “1 more year, to be exact if I don’t have the operation within this few months.”
“So I went to the hospital. Your grandfather asked me a question that made me think a lot:
‘Have you loved me throughout our marriage?’ I was lost for words. I spent the entire day thinking. And when I finally said yes, we hugged.
“Since then, I began visiting him in the hospital for his remaining days. He said something the day before he died which touched me very deeply: ‘I’ve been the happiest man in the world for two times: The first time is when you agreed to marry me, and the second time is when you said you had always loved me throughout our marriage. Because I have loved you all this while as well, but I just didn’t dare to say it.’”
My grandmother smiled when she finished her story. I knew that the memories of her dead husband were replaying in her mind. I, on the other hand, was thinking hard as well. There was a moral in her story, and with a twist of my neck, I finally knew what it was.
“Your grandfather was smiling when he died. Doesn’t matter how long we live as long as we live with a smile on our face.”
Yes, now I got it, the moral of the story. At that moment, I wanted to kiss my grandmother, but I dared not. However, after I had picked my keys up, I leaned forward and give her a kiss. “I love you grandma.” I said, and made my way out.
Wait for me, L.Joe.
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